rSlash - r/Nuclearrevenge I Infected Food Thieves with a Controlled Virus

Episode Date: May 9, 2025

0:00 Intro 0:08 Prison 4:11 My duck 11:29 Mental health 14:20 Comment 14:27 Food thieves 15:43 Comment Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

FanDuel Casino's exclusive live dealer studio has your chance at the number one feeling. Winning. Which beats even the 27th best feeling saying I do. Who wants this last parachute? I do. Enjoy the number one feeling. Winning. In an exciting live dealer studio.

Exclusively on FanDuel Casino. Where winning is undefeated. 19 plus and physically located in Ontario. Gambling problem? Call 1-866-531-2600 or visit connectsontario.ca. Please play responsibly. The Battle of Ontario is on, and FanDuel is your home for live betting the series

with features like live SGPs, build a parlay any game, any period, or stack multiple matchups onto one slip with same game parlay plus. What's better than playoff hockey? Overtime playoff hockey. Get more from the game with live overtime markets. Download FanDuel today and get more with North America's number one sportsbook. Please play responsibly. 19 plus and physically located in Ontario. If you

have questions or concerns about your gambling or the gambling of someone close to you, please contact connectsontario18665312600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. Welcome to r slash nuclear revenge where OP gets a jerk arrested and sent to jail. Our next reddit post is from throw it away. Some background. This began before covid kicked off and has only recently ended. So my uncle was over at my house for my birthday. Both of us are gun owners.

I compete in competitions and he's just the kind of guy to go to our range once a month. We had gone shooting the previous day and only brought out a few guns because we had some technical stuff to work on with a few guns so it wasn't really a trip just to shoot. My uncle surprised me on the trip with some Tannerite, which is an explosive you set off by shooting it. So we ended up blowing some stuff up while we were out there, but saving most of it for the next day. The next day we were packing up to actually go out

shooting for real instead of spending the day tinkering. And my uncle asked me to bring one of my guns that has very expensive and hard to find ammo for him to shoot a bit. I told him I only had about 20 rounds for it and I would like to save them for another day since I didn't know if I'd be able to find more. Here's where things start falling apart. My uncle is known to be a bit scummy and a hothead. So he snapped and tried guilting me into bringing the gun telling me I owe him for the Tannerite. I told him that I didn't realize I would have to pay him back for a gift and if that was the case, he could just have the remaining Tannerite, then walked back to my room

to start putting away my guns since I could tell this was pretty much going to ruin the day. This made him lose his absolute mind and start yelling and stomping about me being an ungrateful piece of garbage and how he should kick my butt to teach me a lesson. At this point, I tell him to get the hell out of my house if he's going to threaten me and he charges up the stairs at me. My uncle is a very large and fit man, so I grabbed the bear spray out of my shooting bag. The shooting range we use is in the middle of nowhere, and I pointed it at him. My uncle's been maced before, so he quickly backed down and left, damaging my door on

the way out. I just went about my day after this, packing up most of the guns but loading a couple into the car because I plan to still head to the range and not let him ruin my fun. As I'm packing up the car, a couple of police cars roll up and they start shouting at me to get on the ground and they put me in handcuffs. I pretty quickly found out that they were there because my uncle called and said that I pointed a weapon at him and mentioned my guns. I ended up having to show the police the footage from my security camera before they let me go.

After that day, I fully cut ties with my uncle and just moved on with my life. But I came to find out that he was talking trash about me to family members, which is when I started plotting my revenge. I knew that my uncle illegally stored his restricted guns and I knew that he spent quite a bit of money on them. But I also knew the cops probably wouldn't bother since I had no proof. I found out that my uncle had been shooting all the animals in his yard from my grandma whom he brags to and sends pictures to. One of the animals he shot is an endangered species. And I knew my grandma's phone had the picture on it, so I eventually snuck onto

my grandma's phone and sent myself all the incriminating pictures, including ones of illegal guns and reported it anonymously to the police. Today, my uncle got arrested. Fish and game seized his cars and guns, his wife has pretty much left him since the police raid traumatized her and their kids, and all of his gun friends have gone off the grid so he has no support. Court date and charges unknown, but from my research, he's looking at a really long sentence. I feel absolutely no remorse because I've always said that I don't think him having access to firearms was safe since he can be violent and he's overall a terrible person. Yeah OP, when you said your uncle had already been maced once before, I got a pretty good idea of

what type of guy we're dealing with here. Not only is he a scummy person, but picking fights with someone when they're literally carrying around guns is beyond stupid. He's lucky you only pointed bear spray at him. Back in May of 1990, there was an unseasonably late snowstorm. A few days after it snowed, I was riding my bike and found a baby duckling all by itself near a river. There was no mother duck around, so I put it inside my shirt to keep it warm and brought

it home on my bike. My mother thought that it would die because it was so small and cold and wet and shivering, but I put it under a light and after a while it dried off and started hopping around and peeping. It was so cute. It followed me like a puppy. I called it Philip because it sounded like it was saying, Philip, Philip, Philip, Philip, whenever it peeped.

So after a week, I figured I ought to teach it to swim and eat stuff in the lakes, so I started bringing it to a small local beach. Philip did well. He swam around and ate weeds and snails and everyone at the beach loved him. Now my trouble started. After I'd brought Philip to the beach several times, the lifeguard told me that his boss, the director of parks and recreation, Kevin, had told him that there was a city ordinance against bringing pets to city parks.

I tried to explain to the lifeguard that it was only for a few weeks and then the duck would be grown up and able to live on its own, but he didn't care. I was upset! How was I going to teach the duck how to live on its own? I went to the library and got out the large blue books of city ordinances and looked up the relevant ordinance and I discovered something interesting. There was one ordinance that prohibited bringing dogs into city parks and another that prohibited bringing horses into city parks, both of which I see happening fairly often by the way. But no ordinance against bringing ducks into city parks. So I went home and called Kevin.

However, it being a weekend, he wasn't in, so his secretary answered the phone. I told her what happened and what the ordinances actually said and told her to tell Kevin that I'd be bringing my duck to the beach anytime I felt like it. Well, apparently, when Kevin heard this, his head exploded. He called me back and told me that he had a conference with the city attorney about my duck. And according to him, the city attorney had decided that the law should be interpreted to refer to all domestic or pet animals, not merely dogs or horses.

Then he said that he had called the Department of Natural Resources because I wasn't supposed to have a duck. Anyways, a few days later, the DNR agent shows up at my house and marches right into my backyard without ringing the doorbell and without a warrant. Kevin had gotten this agent to come over from another city. I was in my backyard at the time feeding Philip, and the agent proceeds to read me the riot act. First, he tells me that my duck was a wood duck, which is a wild animal.

Kevin had previously referred to it as a domestic animal. And this was a lie, by the way. I later learned that my duck was a mallard, which can be considered either wild or domestic depending on the circumstances. Then he tells me that I can't have a wood duck, which my duck wasn't, without a game farm license, and that I couldn't get a game farm license unless I had 40 acres of land. He then told me that I either had to let my duck go by the end of the day or he would confiscate it and take it to a lake in another town where I would never see it again. I told him my duck was too little to let go and I was going to let it go

in a month but he wouldn't hear it. He told me I had to do as I was told. I was crying as I let my poor little duckling, Philip, go to the lake. I went back that evening to check on him and he was cowering, terrified under a boardwalk. The next day I couldn't find him at all. He probably got eaten by something because he was way too little to be on his own. Then would you believe it? The next week, the agent and the game warden came back into my property without permission again to make sure the duck still wasn't there. Now onto the revenge part.

After losing my duck, I went to the library and spent hours looking up the laws about wildlife and game farms. And I found out something very interesting. The agent had lied to me. As it turns out, you only needed 40 acres of land to get a game farm license on land where hunting, trapping, or killing of animals was going on. Otherwise, there was no land requirement to get a game farm license, only a pen size requirement, which my pen for my duckling more than met.

If I was devastated and crying my eyes out before, now I was so furious that my head was exploding. They killed my duck not because it was the law, but just for an ego trip. So, I got even. I was the town eccentric, so I didn't have any reputation to lose, and I didn't care what people thought of me. I spent the next several weeks walking around downtown and telling everyone who would stop and listen about my duck, how Kevin and the agent had lied to me and made me condemn my own pet to death. Maybe people thought that I was nuts, but I didn't care. Everyone was finding out what happened. And Kevin was scared. I had a friend from work who also worked part- in his office and she told me that he

was so frightened that he had gone to a lawyer to try to pursue a slander charge against me to get me to stop telling people what had happened. Only the lawyer told him there was absolutely nothing that could be done because truth was an absolute defense against slander and if he didn't like the truth, whose fault was that? Kevin's critical mistake, of course, was actually filing a complaint with the DNR so that he could get the agent to legitimately intimidate me into releasing my baby duckling way too soon.

The DNR, like all government agencies, keeps records. If he tried to claim I was lying and slandering him, there was documented proof of what had happened. So, the outcome? Kevin lost his cushy bureaucrat job as the director of parks and recreations. And the last I heard of him, about 10 years after this happened, he lost two other jobs. His house, he couldn't make the payments when he had no job. His wife, who didn't want to stick around when he had no job, and was somewhere in a trailer park drinking himself to death. I hope he did too.

The thing that's tripping me up about this post is, at what point does a wild duck become your duck? You know, if I'm walking down the street and I see a duck, you know, and I throw it a piece of bread and it's like, quack, quack, I like you now. And just starts following me around. And then some game born is like, Hey, you can't have a duck. You need a license for that duck. I'll get you arrested for owning a duck. Is it my duck? Was this duck ever OP's duck in the first place? He just kind of lived in his backyard. If a duck just decides to start living in your backyard, do you own it? If you give it food, then do you own it? I don't know, this feels really, really stupid. You

know, the revenge is funny. Ruining the guy's life over one duck is of course nuclear revenge. It's just, this is such a petty, stupid thing to argue about. There's a fox who lives within my property lines of my house. Do I own the fox? Do I need a fox license? Our next reddit post is from Ok Rope. I'm an 18 year old guy and this happened when I was in my junior year of high school. I'm not going to get into it but I ended up in the mental hospital for suicide. I had lost one of the only family members who accepted me for being gay, and the only extracurricular

I had was theater. The theater director treated me like the mom I never had, until it came to shows at which point everyone was told how worthless we were. Not to mention I'd been bullied relentlessly, being gay and in Oklahoma of all places. I came back from the hospital medicated and ready to finish high school. Some background. I had spent my whole high school career trying to become the president of Drama Club. I was the only one to become inducted as a thespian as a freshman and was practically ready to be the next president.

The votes came in and I lost. I would have been okay losing to Ben until I found out that they'd been telling everyone that I was unstable and told people I went to the mental hospital for drug abuse. I've never abused drugs or done any drugs for that matter. What's worse, when I confronted my theater teacher about it, she told me, everyone has a right to free speech and then proceeded to tell me that maybe I shouldn't have even reached out for help since this would have prevented my loss of the presidential race.

Not to mention I had police raid my car, my locker, and even my house. My parents thought that I was on meth or something since police kept coming to my house. At the first police visit, they quite literally busted down our front door. I even got beat up in the parking lot of my work because a known druggy didn't believe that I didn't have anything on me. I almost got fired from my one source of income because of this ordeal. All because he made up this lie and everyone believed it and went talking. I was fuming. And I found out the top 10 colleges for this bin. And I emailed them all the screenshots of what

he'd said about me. His plan was to go to mostly liberal arts colleges and had even received thousands of dollars in scholarship money. All of them rescinded their acceptance when they received the proof. Correspondence was very slow between me and the colleges, but by the time it had been confirmed, most of the application deadlines had passed. He hasn't been able to get into college. I feel slightly bad as I found out his mom was a special ed teacher. And when she heard about this, she actually told Ben that when he turns 18, he'll need to find a place to live on his own. He has nowhere to go and no future plans. Don't make fun of people's mental health or make

up lies for the purposes of winning. I haven't talked to anyone in the theatre group since. All of them considered me a druggie and I became a pariah. I feel a little remorse but not enough. I really like this quote down in the comments. Don't stir the shit pot unless you're willing to lick the spoon. Our next credit post is from the man with two poo brains. In first year at university, somewhere in the west of England, I lived in a large Georgian student house which had 23 under post grads living in it. All lads. We had three kitchens, but some people would raid other fridges and I was sick of people stealing my food. In microbiology, we were doing some

experiments with orthopoxvirus. Think of it as a much less severe version of cowpox. Anyway, one of my lab partners didn't use sterile techniques on her inoculating lute particularly well and ended up with a blister on her lip. Eventually, I was fed up with the thievery and took a little sample of that virus and added it to a block of cheese. A couple of days later, the two perps also had a couple of blister-type lesions around their mouths, which lasted a few days and meant they didn't want to go out. They had an inkling it was me, but I made some cheese on toast in front of them while ensuring I wasn't cross-contaminating, so I came away unscathed. I made sure the cheese got hot

enough to kill the virus. My food was never touched again, but I often think how risky it was. This top comment from Adrian. Someone was stealing beer, so a few of us opened and drank a 22 ounce beer, then filled it with piss, put the top back on, and put it in the fridge. Later that night, we see the younger brother of the guy who lived there They were 22 and 19 if I remember correctly, and one of his friends drinking it. The first guy swigs it, makes a face and says, it tastes like piss, and pass it to his buddy, who then did the exact same thing. They finished half the bottle before the rest of us couldn't hold back our laughter anymore. Pretty sure they would have stopped drinking after just one sip each if they hadn't been

stoned off their butts. Seriously, those were possibly the two dumbest humans I've ever met. But they never, and I mean never, touched our beer again. Ah, good times. Since OP said this story took place in England, it'd be like, are you taking the piss, mate? No, I think you're the one who's taking the piss here. That was r slash nuclear revenge, and if you like this one who's taking the piss here.